


Wake

by PunkHazard



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:48:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunkHazard/pseuds/PunkHazard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(1) One time he asks her, "What do you want to do when you grow up, kid?"<br/>(2) Sibling hierarchies are usually reserved for brothers at least a few months or years apart, but the effect isn’t diminished even for triplets.<br/>(3) Now of all times is not the moment to wonder if he could have been a better father, or a better friend, if he can become the fixed point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Whoever said Japanese girls are supposed to be docile clearly never met this one, because Mako's latched onto him like some sort of ancient and immovable barnacle. She doesn't say much but she follows Stacker everywhere, eyes trained on his back when he's walking ahead of her and his face whenever he's stopped to talk to someone. 

One time he asks her, "What do you want to do when you grow up, kid?" 

"Mister Pentecost," Mako tells him in that precocious little-girl voice, "I want to destroy Them." 

She repeats in Japanese in case he didn't get it the first time, 「I can't forgive a single one of these kaiju, I would like to kill them all,」which is unnerving from a child but reasonable in context. 

"Oh my god," Stacker says. 

But _Yeah_ , he thinks, _that sounds about right_. Families lost to havoc wreaked on their respective cities, nightmares for the weeks and months afterward. 

Children sometimes block out memories of traumatic events altogether, but Mako doesn't. She's clear-eyed, even though she wakes up screaming in the middle of the night or during naptime, and she doesn't make friends with any of the other orphans but she sticks close to Pentecost, and follows him to training and asks him to teach her how to fight. 

It takes months but he agrees, and she absorbs the lessons like a sponge, spends most of her time watching videos and running simulations. 

When he tells her about his cancer, she throws her arms around his neck and tells him, "Now, I have another reason to fight." 

"Don't think of vengeance," Stacker says, and he thinks this must be what it's like to have children when she sighs against his shoulder and rolls her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

They both feel Otachi's tail rip Hu out of his harness, toss him across the cockpit, and Jin's dry sob rings in his ears as loudly as his own scream does but when Crimson Typhoon's head hits the water, all systems down but far enough away from the fight to be out of the current, Cheung's already unfastening his restraints and moving to pull Jin out of his.

When he reaches for Hu, he can't even see his brother's face through all the blood sloshing around in his helmet and his mind has shut down, disconnected from the jaeger and with a drift like theirs, that only happens if you're gone altogether or about to be so he tells Jin to hold his breath and they dive through the schism in their crumpled hull and into the ocean as the cockpit fills with water. Mark IV Jaegers are at least designed with a passing thought for the safety of their pilots. 

Jin has always been a crybaby (he's the youngest), but he's silent while they float in the water, and he doesn't even flinch while Cheung slowly removes the pieces of his crushed armor, easing sharp edges away from his torso. It's usually Hu's job to keep an eye on him, but it's not like Cheung is new to this. 

(Sibling hierarchies are usually reserved for brothers at least a few months or years apart, but the effect isn't diminished even for triplets. The only words for siblings in Chinese specify order, regardless of time between births and Cheung would be lying if he said he'd never abused his power as the eldest son, but Hu had always taken the brunt of it. He doesn't even remember how to push Jin around.) 

Rescue choppers arrive hours later to salvage the head along with Crimson's main chassis and the crew seems surprised to find them alive; the PPDC's monitors were faulty from the start, and when a signal cuts out it usually means the pilot's dead anyway. It's not until they've stripped out of their suits and had a long visit to the infirmary (verdict: a few broken bones, a couple strains and two bad cases of whiplash) that they get to see Hu's body. 

Hong Kong will honor their brother with them when citizens start coming out of their bunkers and they'll need to be strong for the city then but for now, Jin takes Hu's hand, kisses his knuckles and tenderly places his arm back at his side before he turns away and buries his face against Cheung's shoulder. 

"Gentlemen," Pentecost says. 

"Sir," Cheung replies over Jin's head, one arm curled protectively over his back, dark eyes steely and cold. 

Pentecost bows. "It's been an absolute honor." 

Cheung doesn't bow in return-- no room to with his brother slumped against him, but his expression softens and his free hand drifts to the gurney, gently closes Hu's eyes. "We are grateful for the chance you've given us to continue protecting our city, but the Crimson Typhoon team can no longer support your cause, Marshal." 

"No," Pentecost says, eyes sympathetic. "I wouldn't ask you to." 

Cheung taps his brother on the shoulder, waits for Jin to sniff one last time, wipe his eyes (and nose) against the material of his shirt and straighten his back. He turns and shakes Pentecost's hand. 

Pentecost nearly gives both of them a heart attack when he pulls Jin against him, arms wrapping gingerly over the bandages on his arms and shoulders and he says, "I'm proud of you. All of you. You'll always have a place here." 

Their parents hadn't lived long enough to see them make their first kill and Jin seems to accept what Pentecost says on their behalf, because the Marshal has always somehow known that out of the three of them, he'd needed the most encouragement. Jin's shoulders pull back and he stands up straighter when Pentecost lets him go. Cheung shakes his hand, eyes stinging, and Pentecost excuses himself, orders the rest of the staff out of the room. 

"Wei Tang Twins sounds stupid," Jin mutters, leaning into Cheung's side. 

"Shut up, crybaby." Cheung wraps an arm over his neck, pulls him into a tight hug. "Go take your nap." 

Neither of them are especially expressive (that gets you killed, on the streets), but Jin squeezes him back, fingers curling into the material of his brother's shirt and he breathes, " _Pokgai_ , I'm not the only crybaby here."


	3. Chapter 3

A year and a month, three kaiju attacks ago, Stacker stepped off a plane and into an office and became the head of the newly-formed Pan-Pacific Defense Corps. Today he flies over what’s left of Sydney, New South Wales, ponders the irony of dilapidated and wasted buildings, nuclear fallout in what used to be a ‘good neighborhood’ and slowly, painfully relaxes his hand over the handle inside the chopper’s cockpit. 

The pilot has weary lines around his eyes and mouth, scruff on his chin and a deeply unsettled expression. Not that it surprises Stacker. Hercules Hansen lost his home and his wife in the course of a week, the Bell Kiowa he’s bringing to a landing near Town Hall the same one he’d brought into the city to save his son. 

Stacker waits for the helicopter blades to come to a stop before he asks, “The office?” 

“I’ll head in with you, Stacks.” Herc’s voice is strained, the energy in it a thin veneer of overworked and overstressed to forget rather than any real spirit. “Just let me park this old bird.” 

They fall into step as soon as they cross over the threshold of the building and walk with clipped synchronicity to the meeting room, come to stop in front of the monitors and stand at attention. 

“We served in a joint training exercise two years ago,” Stacker says to the wall of screens, faces peering back at them after a quick introduction and debriefing, “Hansen is a brave, loyal and intelligent officer, and I would trust him with my life.” 

Herc tells Stacker, later, “Mate, I don’t think I’m up to the job,” and he manages to say, _My son_ , before Stacker puts a hand on his shoulder, stops him where he stands. 

“Take as much time as you need, Sergeant Hansen,” he says, all Marshal Pentecost now, “but when you are ready, I want you and no one else to be my second in command.” 

It takes an hour for Herc to explain to Chuck that Dad’s going to join the Jaeger Program, and a week to convince his son that he’s not nearly old enough to enroll immediately as well, no matter how much he might want to. He promises to groom Chuck for a future as a pilot, however— swears that he’ll get all the training, all the material he needs and more. 

When Chuck finally nods, gives him a chilly, _Fine_ , Herc picks up the phone, dials Stacker’s private line and says, “Yeah, it’s Hansen. I’m in.” 

* * *

Coyote Tango’s prototype dwarfs even the heavy machinery used to build it. Herc cranes his neck to look at its head, shields his eyes from the glare through the sunroof and whistles under his breath, gives a quietly understated, _Well that’s just ace, isn’t it,_ when Stacker steps up beside him. 

“Bit rushed,” Stacker says, “and I still need a co-pilot, but I’ve got someone waiting in the wings.” 

“Sevier,” Herc answers. 

“Yes.” After a brief silence, Stacker adds, “She’s an old friend, very close. You and I can’t very well pilot the same Jaeger. If I fail—” 

“Stacks, you know I wasn’t even thinking—” 

“ _If I fail,_ " Stacker repeats, more firmly this time, "then you’ll be the one to take over operations." 

“Right, then,” Herc answers with a nod, holds his gaze and then Stacker smiles, pats him on the shoulder and cants his head toward the control room. 

“But it doesn’t mean you can’t test out the new Pons interface. We’ve taken to calling it ‘Drifting’.” 

“And the neural load.” 

Stacker hands over a file, a keycard, a new set of PPDC-minted dogtags to replace his RAAF pair. “Will be shared with me until we find you a co-pilot.” 

“Suppose it figures we’d be… what’s the word? Compatible,” Herc muses, tucking the folder under his arm, looping the lanyard with his ID card and the chain with his new tags over his head. “Lead the way, Marshal. I always wondered what was going on in that head of yours.” 

* * *

Whether or not Stacker Pentecost returns from the Breach still breathing, Herc knows this is the last time he’ll see his old friend alive. In remission, with a condition that won’t worsen unless he steps back into a Jaeger, neural scarring and radiation poisoning, cancer and whatever else he’s been hiding from the Shatterdome staff. 

Stacker Pentecost has become more than a man, in the years Herc has known him; more than a soldier, or a commander. 

(A fixed point, he’d said. A fixed point would rather die in a Jaeger than waste away. A fixed point is the source, the light, the constant.) 

Chuck is, above all, a Ranger and Herc wants nothing more than to see past the boy but Chuck is his _son_ and Stacker has been for years his (and perhaps many others’) sun and Herc knows he’s going to lose one and that he’s almost definitely going to lose both. If he doesn’t let go, Herc also knows, he’ll lose the world; two lives for seven billion and his scale still tips in the wrong direction but he doesn’t stop them. 

Now of all times is not the moment to wonder if he could have been a better father, or a better friend, if he can become the fixed point. All Herc knows is that he’d been the best Ranger he could have been and it’s not enough. 

Chuck has become a braver man than Herc ever was and he steps into his Jaeger with the man Herc always wanted to be and between the three of them— Herc’s the last to realize that they don’t need any words. 


End file.
